


A Certain Step Towards Falling In Love

by Dien, ProblemWithTrouble



Series: POI [5]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pride and Prejudice Fusion, Alternate Universe - Regency, F/F, M/M, Suit Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 20:22:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16730112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dien/pseuds/Dien, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProblemWithTrouble/pseuds/ProblemWithTrouble
Summary: John Reese is content with his life as a Regency era bachelor until he gets new neighbors in Netherfield and now he can't stop thinking about the trio that moved it - Ingram, Root, and Finch. Mostly he can't stop thinking about Finch and how he knows so much about all of them.





	A Certain Step Towards Falling In Love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dien/gifts).



It is a truth universally acknowledged that a gentleman in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife. John Reese lacked what many would call a good fortune and for that he had to be grateful. It meant not everyone thought he should be searching for a wife, just most people. He had no desire to find himself a wife. His life was full enough without adding love to it. 

It was early in the morning – close to four if John were to guess – when he had woken with a start in a cold sweat as he had almost every night for the last few weeks. As the weather was dipping his nightmares were getting worse as they had every year since coming back. Every time he had closed his eyes for the two weeks he was transported back to Spain into the middle of screaming men and horses with the scent of blood in the chilly air.

He rolled out of bed, his feet touching the cold floor and sending a shiver up his spine. A long jacket hung from a hook near the bed that John pulled on with a pair of shoes before going out of his room and downstairs. There was a fire already going in the kitchen and a kettle of tea on the stove. John poured himself a mug and moved outside into the crisp October air managing to avoid the cook, Lily, who had started the tea and the fire.

He stood at the doorway breathing slowly and then started off on his now routine morning walk. The familiarity of growing up on the property and starlight was enough to guide him in the near black as he circled the private portion of the Reese estate. Most of his property had been lent out to tenant farmers and John was careful not to step on any of the few crops that still needed brining in as he walked the perimeter. 

In a few hours Carter and Fusco would roll into the house and the study to review some of the investigations going on with their thieftaking but until then he had some time to get his head on straight. When he was almost back to the house and the sun was just barely up Bear came tearing through the yard to him followed by Shaw’s head peaking out of the back door before disappearing back inside. 

John finished the last of his impromptu inspection of the few traps he had laid around the property and checking for any marks of human interaction beyond his own and then went inside to see his sister, the dog trotting along at his side just happy to be outside. 

Shaw was sat at the table with a cup of tea and some eggs and barely looked at him when he walked in past the cursory glance when he walked in. Lily laid down a plate of eggs in front of him with a hunk of bread as soon as he sat, showing her hand of just how habitual John’s nightmares had become for everyone else. 

“Bear is sleeping in your room tonight. I’m tired of him waking up when you get up and whining at the door,” Shaw said. 

John looked down at Bear who was begging at Shaw’s feet for the last bite of bread from her breakfast, waiting silent and patiently as always. 

“Sure,” John said. Shaw finished her food in silence and tossed her last bit of food to Bear who then turned to John to beg for his last scraps. 

“I’m going out. I’ll be back,” Shaw said and then was gone out the door. 

John was grateful for that little bit of peace that would be granted to him, though Shaw was gone most days, hating to be cooped up in the house for any length of time. 

After breakfast John went back upstairs. As he dressed, layer after layer acting as an informal armor John shook off the last dregs of nightmare hangover. Some part of him remembered what it had been like to see Jessica the morning after a nightmare and how every dark thought had dissipated in the same second he laid eyes on her and longed for that sort of healing. But Jessica was married and John couldn’t bear to drag someone knew in to replace her. He could handle the nightmares on his own and he would never be able to offer up his black and broken heart to someone new, not if he truly cared about them at all. 

By the time Carter and Fusco arrived and all the files were worked through afternoon light was streaming in through the windows and past the open heavy blue curtains that was outshining the fire that was still crackling in the fireplace and finally making part of the house warm. Bear even seemed content curled up on his dog bed near the fire. Fusco was in his usual black suit jacket and white shirt that was counting down it’s days though John had considered not putting on a jacket at all for their meeting so he couldn’t blame Fusco for picking his worst shirt for coming to see John. “You’re going to the dance tonight aren’t you?” Fusco asked.

“I wasn’t intending to,” John said, looking back down at his desk and hoping that it would be the end of it. It never was. 

Carter didn’t seem impressed with his answer from her seat next to Fusco in a purple satin dress and her hair pinned up. “You promised Taylor you’d be at the next dance and now it’s here,” she pointed out. It had been months ago when Taylor had been complaining about having to go to a dance while John was at dinner at the Carter house. He had meant it at he time, but he had also been hoping that Taylor would forget about it. Apparently neither Carter had forgotten.

“Besides that my wife’s cousin is in town and she wants to introduce you to her,” Fusco said. He had probably told his wife that he could convince John to attend and wouldn’t be letting up anytime soon. They had probably made a plan on their way over. 

“I hate to disappoint,” John started but cut himself off when the office door opened. 

Shaw come into the room and start mixing herself a drink from the side table next to a separate writing desk without a glance at any of them. She was wearing her riding pants complete with a jacket and waistcoat to help fight off the chill that was quickly coming over the county. Her hair was pulled back but it was falling from the tie, which made John think that she had just gotten back and hadn’t stopped on her way to his office despite her cold, uninterested expression.

She didn’t say anything as she drew the attention of the room. Shaw had always been quiet when they had been growing up but she had only embraced it when she had discovered how unnerved people became when she didn’t say anything. Even Bear was watching her carefully. Fusco was particularly susceptible and found Shaw a little annoying, which only made Shaw and John more entertained. Carter, though, had learned to love Shaw once they had gotten past the first few layers. Now half of the time if something was being plotted against John they were plotting together.

“Dramatic entrance. How long were you listening outside the door before you decided to come in?” John asked. 

Shaw didn’t answer and just came with drink in hand to shift through the papers on his desk. “How long are you going to pretend you don’t want to go to the dance?”

“Who says I want to go?” 

“I do. A new family just moved into Netherfield and all we know about them is their names. Ingram, Root, and Finch.” Shaw grinned as she issued her challenge to John. “That and they will be at the dance tonight.”

“I knew an Ingram,” Carter said. “She was married to a man just out of Cambridge. I wonder if it’s them.”

“The only woman besides the servants is Root, not Ingram.” 

“She’s not related to the other two?” 

“What a reputation,” Fusco said. Carter gave him an unimpressed look.

“I doubt Root’s a real name so there’s no real reputation,” Carter said. 

“Without a real name we can’t even know if there is a reputation at stake. It could be a wife or sister or mistress. Some women just prefer nicknames,” John said with a pointed look to his sister. He tried to sound bored by the whole thing but between his promise to Taylor, the mystery of three new people entering their town, and the threat of not being left alone until he had agreed to go made the choice for him. 

“Surprising,” Shaw said and after having caused her newest bit of mischief for the day left beckoning Bear to follow with the promise of a treat in the kitchen.

Carter stood from her chair and Fusco followed suit. “I’m glad you’re coming but the carriage should be ready by now and I need to get ready.”

“And I came with her,” Fusco said.

“I’ll see you tonight then,” John said and was finally left in silence.

He turned to the still blazing fire that seemed to crackle louder now that it didn’t have to compete with anyone else. If there was actually a new family in Netherfield then it was the biggest thing to happen in town for weeks and everyone would have been trying to learn what they could about this new trio. They didn’t exactly live in a town that kept to themselves and the fact that no one seemed to know anything about them was far more interesting than the actual fact that new people were in town.

* * *

The sun had gone behind the horizon and the sky had just the barest hint of light still painting the very edge of the horizon in red and purple. The view of that last bit of light was only interrupted by the stray house or barn. As they rolled closer to town the interruptions became more frequent until that last bit of light was hidden from them completely. They came into the cobblestone streets with hanging oil lamps lighting the streets and people walking around in their best dress; bright colored dresses that flowed slightly in the late autumn breeze with matching caps and men in black jackets with their shirts as white as the could make them and bright satin and silk cravats. 

The carriage rolled to a stop in front of the hall where people were standing outside and music was flowing out. John climbed out first and offered his hand to Shaw as she got out. Her dark green dress was almost black in the dim light, only showing its color where it reflected the lights brightest, it hung straight down around her in an undetermined number of thin layers John was sure had been selected to make her look fashionable and above those around them but still comfortable in the soon to be stifling heat of the dance hall. 

John himself was in his second favorite trousers that were tight around his legs and tall boots that were too fine for riding but that he had been assured were the latest fashion in London by Ernie Trask who traveled the whole country selling the latest gossip and fashion to anyone who would buy. John wasn’t sure he believed everything Ernie said about fashion but his gossip was never wrong. 

They entered the crowded hall that already had dancers on the floor and people chatting in deep conversations. John went to find himself a beer and Shaw broke off to find herself a glass of wine. They had a competition going of who could avoid the attention of Mrs. Hanson longer. The old woman had become obsessed with getting one of them to marry one of her seemingly endless number of relatives. Shaw had won the last three dances but John was ready to run if he needed to. He had already had to buy Shaw a new saddle for her horse and two new guns. 

He went to a far corner where he could almost blend into the shadows and curtains. It still didn’t take Carter long to find him. Taylor was on the dance floor. “Now it’s not that bad, is it?” she asked. She was in a red dress that contrasted her dark skin beautifully and the cap her hair was pinned under was an identical color with studded gems on her hatpin. 

John looked at her but knew it wasn’t an argument he was going to win. “It’s not over yet. There’s still time.” Instead he focused on Fusco and the two women who were making their way over to them. 

“John, it’s good to see you,” Mary Fusco said to him with a smile. Her yellow dress matched Lionel’s cravat and the two looked quite the pair with their faces already flushed red from the heat. It would be less than ten minutes before Fusco started to verbally complain about it. 

“The pleasure’s all mine,” he said, making a bow to the ladies. 

The other woman was a beautiful brunette in a purple dress that swayed and moved with her and drew the eye all the way down her body. She had an air about her that made John think that she knew just a little more about everyone than they knew about her and was ready to use it in a way that would benefit her. 

“This is Zoe Morgan, my cousin from London,” Mary said. 

John made another bow. “John Reese, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

“The pleasure’s mine,” she said with a grin. 

Not a second later the Fuscos and Carter left to go get drinks and left Zoe and John alone. Across the room though Shaw had been caught in a group with Mrs. Hanson and glared at John. 

Zoe, to her credit and John’s relief, knew how to hold a conversation through to its polite but felt no need to extend it and instead they stood watching the dancers in companionable silence. John decided that he liked her even if he’d have to brush off Fusco’s hint of marriage.

Without any announcement or pretense the party seemed to stop, even the dancers were distracted to a slowed rhythm to try and see what their fuss was about. 

Three strangers walked into the room and stood at the door taking in the scene for a long moment. It was obviously the people who had moved into Netherfield, two men and a woman who John didn’t recognize. The tallest of them was blonde with pants that were so tight John wondered if he could still feel his legs and tall boots that looked a lot like the ones Ernie had given John. His jacket was a bright rich blue with gold buttons that was open over his bright white and blue embroidered waistcoat and his face was locked in an easy if not patronizing smile. 

The woman had dark hair that was pinned up with gems that twinkled even from across the room. Her dress was round at the bottom and stood away from her a little giving her a bell shape to her small waist. Her own smile was just as patronizing as the blonde’s but her eyes showed just how closely she was watching the reactions of the room where his had been almost unfocused. 

The shorter man was the least beautiful of the three but still enthralled John and he couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away. His pants were a little looser that his friend’s but his boots still went to his knees, the fabric puffing out just a little at the top of the boots. The green of his jacket was the same color as some of the evergreen trees that John had hunted in, his shirt stark white and the green cravat primly tucked against his throat, the silk shining in the candlelight. He stood with an air of power and confidence and not leaning on his cane except just the barest amount when he started to walk away from the entrance. 

“Now there’s a man with some power,” Zoe whispered to John. 

It was only the years of growing up with Shaw and his military training that stopped John from jumping at Zoe’s voice. He had forgotten that she was next to him almost completely. 

“Which one?” John asked, trying to cover up his own fasciation. He had always taken a too close interest in the men around him, as close of an interest in women and he had spent his whole life trying to cover and hide it under layers of mysterious silence and a life as a perpetual bachelor. 

Zoe gave him a grin that John knew, even just twenty minutes into their acquaintance that meant trouble. “Not many men can take the attention of the room and then brush it off to his friends.”

“Do you know them?” John asked. She was from London so maybe they had run in the same circles John had to hope. 

“Yes, though I’ve never been introduced. The tall one is Nathan Ingram, he comes from a well off trading family. His parents bought a large enough piece of land that most people are willing to forgive their roots, but he didn’t get as rich as he is now until he started IFT.” When John didn’t seem to understand what she was talking about. “An engineering company that’s automating a lot of the factories around the county. We used to run in similar circles in the city but I always seemed to miss him.”

“That’s why you’re here?”

“Well I’m not here for the exceptional culture.” 

“The woman?” John asked. She seemed willing enough to give him all the information on the group and John was prepared to take full advantage of it. They always needed more contacts in the upper classes of the city even if they weren’t the peerage and if there had never been a formal introduction then John had usefulness to Zoe as well. 

“She goes by Root and no one knows a thing about her. She showed up with Ingram and Finch about a year ago and they thought she was one of their fiancés until someone mentioned it to her and she laughed in their face. She’s sharp as a whip and if half the rumors are true then she’s dangerous. We were introduced once but she didn’t seem interested in making new friends that night.”

“I take it the short one is Finch.” He had to work not to try and find the man in the crowd again. 

“You’re so smart, John,” she said with a laugh. “He’s another one who came out of nowhere. He came out of Cambridge with Ingram and they’ve been inseparable ever since. No one knows what exactly it is that he does at IFT. My bet is he’s a cofounder that didn’t want to be on the papers. No one’s ever asked. Rumor has it a lord said some very scandalous things - of what variety changes depending who’s telling the story - no matter what he said the man’s gambling debts, thousands of pounds, and bastard child he had abandoned was exposed and he was cut off from his whole family.”

It was easy to see why the story would have caught fire, especially if someone added details about what was said and the child. It was also something that at its core John was inclined to believe. Ingram seemed like the type of man who would be willing to destroy a man for his friend, but even more so it was Finch that John believed. There was something about him that made John believe that if anyone crossed him they didn’t last long. 

Finch had made his way out of the crowd and had managed to blend away against the wall just a few feet from John and Zoe. He was confident that Finch still couldn’t hear them over the music and chatter. He was watching the whole thing with a look of disdain but not without some interest. Which is why he had to work not to look at him for much longer or he would be far too obvious. The gravity that had been drawing John to him was no weaker when he turned back to Zoe. 

“Do you believe all the rumors you hear?” he asked.

“Only the good ones.”

John smiled and had just the smallest bloom of affection for her. “And what do you want for your help?” 

Zoe’s troublesome grin spread across her face. “You’re sister is getting pretty close to Root, I’d love to meet them both.”

“Of course you would,” John said. “You’re welcome to visit Shaw anytime. Maybe Root will be there.”

“One can hope,” she said then slipped back into the crowd easily as if she had never been talking to him in the first place. 

John searched the room for Shaw to see what Zoe had been talking about and saw that Root had cornered Shaw into a conversation, though Shaw didn’t seem to mind from the way she was pretending not to smile. If the rumors about Root were even half true Shaw might have finally met her match. 

He watched the rest of the crowd for a while, bright colored dresses spinning and twirling next to just as flamboyant suits. There was milling around and Carter was talking to a group of woman who were all looking very sad, probably new clients. She had always been the best of them at spotting those who needed their network the most. 

To his left he could feel the gaze of someone watching him and he looked over to catch Finch’s head turning away from him just a touch too fast. Whether everything that Zoe had told him was true or not didn’t matter because John could feel the power and money and confidence coming off of him in waves. It drew John closer and he wanted to know everything about the man who no one but Ingram and Root seemed to know. 

The high of having caught Finch looking at him could only last him so long though. Soon enough John was finding himself beginning to think that nothing else interesting was going to happen that night. It was almost midnight and there was an easy hour or two left in the party but John was hearing the call of his bed. 

With none of the grace and agility that he had displayed on the dance floor Ingram came bounding up to Finch and John moved closer to hear what would be said. There were a few more things of interest left in the night after all. 

“Harold!” Ingram shouted as he came closer enough to talk to Finch. He was just a little out of breath to match his flushed face. 

“Nathan,” Harold Finch said. John decided he didn’t feel the thrill at learning the man’s first name that shot up his spine. 

“Have you even danced to one song?” 

“I don’t exactly make a coveted dance partner,” Finch said with the same tone of someone who had had the same argument many times. 

“Nonsense,” Ingram said. “Any woman here would be happy to dance with you.”

“Even if that were true, which it’s not, no one here catches my eye.”

“Not one _person_?” Ingram asked.

“I don’t know what you’re insinuating, Mr. Ingram,” Finch shot at him, suddenly cold and angry.

“I’m not insinuating anything, _Mr. Finch_.” Ingram seemed almost as angry as Finch for having been snapped at. “Just that I think it would do you some good to relax. Root thinks so too.”

“Root’s judgment has known to be flawed. I wouldn’t take her word as gospel,” Finch said. 

There was a long pause in the conversation and John risked a look to see what was happening. Finch and Ingram were locked in a sort of glaring battle and silent conversation. For a split second Finch’s attention on Ingram broke and he made eye contact with John. The steely glare didn’t soften but there was a spark of curiosity that John hadn’t seen when he had been looking at Ingram. 

In John’s own self-interest he decided that he was bored of the party and went to find Shaw who had already been released by Root. 

The ride home was as quiet as it had always been after a dance but just a little less of hostility in the air. They were both too lost in their own thoughts to poke fun at each other.

* * *

The next day John was eating his breakfast of eggs and potatoes when Shaw walked though the house reading a letter that she stuffed in her pocket of her riding pants when she saw John looking at her. John would have bet she had been out shooting. “I don’t care who wrote you a letter, Shaw.” 

“Yes, you do,” she said, taking a seat across the table from him and pouring herself a cup of tea. 

“I doubt it.”

“It’s an invitation to Netherfield for tea this afternoon.” John did care about that but didn’t let it show on his face. Shaw only half bought it. “Just like you cared to meet Finch and Ingram last night.” 

“I didn’t meet either of them last night.” 

“You were caught staring enough,” she said taking a sip of her tea knowing she had scored a point.

John had long lost the ability to blush but there was a part of him that still felt like he should be ashamed of something. He took a drink of tea to hide how desperate he was for the next bit of information. “Did someone tell you that?”

“No one but me noticed. They were all too busy with their own staring. It was like some sort of sideshow.”

John let himself breath a little easier. “You’re no better, you were practically attached to Root half the night.”

“Yeah, but I have an invitation for tea and you have an invitation no where.” She drained her glass and snatched his buttered bread from his plate. 

“Don’t cause too much trouble,” John said as she walked away. 

“Okay, _father_.” She disappeared behind a corner and John went back to his breakfast in peace.

The thing about growing up with Shaw is that John never learned out to worry about her. By the time their parents had adopted her she was almost six years old and ready to take on the world if she had to fight it with her own bare hands. Instead she had fought John who was only a few years older and had only been with the Reeses for three years before she got there. 

He himself had been a street kid in Glasgow until he had tried to pick the pocket of Mr. Reese and found himself two feet in the air by his wrist. Luckily the man had been in a good mood and with some convincing of his wife had brought him home. Apparently they had been away from London for a long time living in Glasgow and had passed him off as their child without too much of a fuss since they couldn’t have their own children. 

A few years later they had been walking down the street when Shaw had bumped into them and taken Mr. Reese’s watch from his pocket. Without thinking John had taken off after her much to her irritation. John followed her through the streets ruining his nice clothes and became terribly lost on his way to the small hovel that she had been sharing with a few other homeless kids just like he had been living in in Glasgow. She had, of course, threatened to beat the snot out of him and they were deep into the following fight before Mr. Rese had appeared in the doorway and grabbed both of them by the hand and dragged them home. They offered her a place to stay for a few days and she took it, saying it was better than the street and then gone with them when they had moved back to the country and they decided to make her Sameen “Shaw” Reese. 

John had accepted his new life without any complaint, a sharp comment here or there but Shaw had never let herself get too close to the Reeses. Sure she had loved them for what they did for her but it had been years before she had accepted them as her family in her own weird way but she had always held tight to her past. She had only taken the Reese name because she had no choice. Instead she had told everyone her middle name was Shaw and that she wanted to be called Shaw, not Sam. 

Even when their parents had died and John had become the unwilling patriarch and had to return home from the front lines she had been stubborn and wild in her decisions to never listen to anyone. So when Shaw left and didn’t say another word to him John didn’t even notice. There was a lot of work to do between winter fast approaching and John’s own hobbies wrapping up their most profitable seasons. 

John hadn’t even thought about Shaw when he took his dinner in his office and only remembered that she was out at all when he was laying in bed just on the verge of sleep. 

John went to her room but she wasn’t there so he went downstairs to see if any of the staff had seen her since the morning. Packer hadn’t seen her since he had prepared her horse that morning and when John went out into the stables her horse wasn’t back yet. 

John stood looking at the empty stall for a long minute while he tried to decide what exactly to do. If he went to find her that night and everything was fine then there’d be hell to pay. On the other hand if something happened to Shaw John would never forgive himself. For the night he decided to trust Shaw, she had gone missing for a night or two before and he decided not to worry until he needed to. 

When John woke from his nightmare that morning it was pouring rain. Outside the ground had turned into one big mud pit, his feet sinking and getting stuck if he stood to long in one place. No one had seen Shaw or had heard anything from her or anyone at Netherfield. He decided that no matter what Shaw might have been angry about he needed to at least know that her horse hadn’t gotten stuck and broken its leg in the mud. 

He dressed in his ridding clothes, pulling on the tight buckskin pants and the tall boots and a white shirt with his black jacket without caring too much to make sure everything was in order. The groundskeeper readied his horse for him while he dressed and as soon as he was out of the door he took off for Netherfield. Luckily the rain started to slow as dawn began to take hold and the sun came over the horizon.

He followed the back road that Shaw had always favored when the family before had been there and they had liked to fight the boys at Netherfield and used to sneak off to play pranks on them. It was a shortcut through some wooded area with an uneven ground that made it difficult to guide a horse through with the ground mostly mud as opposed to the main road that was mostly flat, beaten down and rarely flooded enough to cause a problem. 

He took the horse so that it was quick but he could still check for anything unusual on the side of the path as well as keep both him and the horse safe. There wasn’t anything to be seen though until he got to the house and a servant came up to take his horse. “Is Shaw here?” John said as he swung off down. 

The man nodded and took the reigns. “She’s inside, Mr. Reese. Marcella will show you to them.”

The woman standing at the front door waved to him and he followed her into the house. She led him through the grand halls that echoed with their steps. Art had been hung but nothing daring or of any real value if John were to glance at them in passing. There might have been a hidden gem but he was still coming down from an adrenaline high from chasing after his sister and was struggling to find anything to care about other than making sure she was okay. She was going to kill him when she saw him. 

When they entered the breakfast room John saw Shaw and Root first, sitting near to each other. Shaw was in one of Root’s dresses, light green and simple, her hair was pinned up as was Root’s who was wearing a dress of the same shape and blue instead of green. Ingram was sitting opposite of them and Finch was sitting on the far end from opposite from where John had just entered the room. 

Ingram looked slightly less prim than he had been at the night of the dance. His shirt but buttoned but no tie or cravat had been adorned yet and everything was just a little looser fitting, from the black pants to the blue jacket. He also looked suddenly pleased, like having more company was exactly what he wanted this early in the morning. 

Finch was almost the complete opposite of his friend. He looked just as prim and proper as he had before. His cane was leaning against his chair, his black jacket sitting primly and the yellow cravat against his neck. John couldn’t see his legs but he was certain that if he could they would be just as they had been at the dance. 

“I’m sorry for showing up unannounced,” John said making a small bow of his head.

“Did you worry about me?”

“I thought we sent someone with a note last night?” Finch asked Ingram. 

“I told them not to waste their time. John didn’t care that much that I was gone for one night,” Shaw said. “Though apparently he’s become a worrier.”

“The note would have been nice, Shaw,” John said. 

Ingram motioned to Marcella, “Will you get a setting for Mr. Reese, please?” he turned to John. “You’ll join us for breakfast?”

“Of course. Thank you,” John said and took his seat next to his sister.

Finch watched him the whole time until a plate had been brought and John had served himself. It was making the hairs on the back of John’s neck stand up the same way that it had the night of the dance but now it made something in him warm in more than just appreciation for easily wielded authority. When he dared look up Finch’s eyes were averted but Ingram was still looking at him.

“It must have been quite the adventure to grow up with such a spirited sister,” Ingram said, obviously searching for small talk. “She beat us all at cards last night.”

“She’s very good at cards,” John said. Shaw grimaced next to him and he couldn’t blame her. This is why he hated meeting new people. He wasn’t good at charming people when he didn’t really need to. He wanted to because he wanted to get to know Finch and see what made the man tick but even then if his life wasn’t on the line he struggled.

“I’ve just got two younger sisters,” Ingram said. He looked to be struggling with Reese’s short answer. He seemed to be someone who genuinely liked talking to people but people had always found him more charming than John did. 

John nodded and took a drink of his tea instead of making any effort at an answer. 

Ingram looked over at Finch and raised his brows as if asking for help. Finch didn’t even seem interested in the conversation at all but with one look at Ingram and one from Root he sighed. “Were your years in Spain where you picked up the skills for your current occupations? Running an organization of theiftakers can’t be something everyone learns”

John had known there was something about Finch from the moment he saw him just like Zoe knew but in one sentence to help his friend he managed to prove it. In one sentence Finch had managed to show just how much he knew about John, but the uninterested look in his eye made it clear that it wasn’t the only thing he knew about John. John let himself smile just a little. “Some of them.”

“Thieftaker? That must be interesting,” Ingram said. “Tracking down people’s stolen property, solving puzzles, catching criminals.”

“It’s not that exciting,” Shaw chimed in and Root grinned at her. 

Reese shot a look at her but was only met with disinterest. “It keeps me sharp. What about IFT?” John asked. “What are you working on?”

Ingram opened his mouth to answer but was cut off by Finch. “We can’t discuss it as I’m sure you’re aware.” 

“I wasn’t going to tell him anything,” Ingram whined to Finch who only shot him a look of complete disbelief. 

“And I can’t discuss what I do,” John said. 

“I can respect your appreciation for privacy,” Finch said with the faint signal of a smile. 

Root cleared her throat loudly and John was brought back to the fact that him and Finch weren’t the only ones at the table. He needed to get a grip.

“The horses should be ready by now,” Root said, standing up from the table. 

“Yes, we should be leaving,” John said. 

“Oh, no I’m not leaving. I’m going for a ride.”

“I’m sure Harold and Nathan will let you hang around while we’re gone,” Root said as she led Shaw out of the room with a spring in her step. 

“We’d be happy to,” Ingram said. “How about a game of cards?”

Shaw was long gone before John could make an answer so instead he turned to Ingram. “That sounds great.” 

It was hours of tedious small talk while John and Ingram played cards and Finch sat in a corner writing in a notebook. The drawing room they had taken him to was cozy and comfortable with a card table and a few bookshelves and a fire crackling the whole time. Through those hours John learned that Ingram had a kid and a dead wife and he had met Harold Finch when they were at university together along with a lot of information that in the long run didn’t mean much. He learned approximately nothing about Finch except that he went to university and anytime Ingram or John tried to bring him into the conversation they were rebuffed with either a look or monosyllabic answers. 

When they had finished their soup Ingram adjusted himself in his seat and cleared his throat. From his spot next to the fire Finch shook his head. John caught his eye and he smiled at John just a little cryptically. 

“Do you know Zoe Morgan well?” Ingram asked. 

“I just met her at the harvest festival. She came in to town recently. Did you know her in London?” John asked.

“Oh, no. We saw her at parties but never seemed to cross paths,” Nathan said, as nonchalant as anything else he had said over the past few hours, but he had become very focused on shuffling the cards. Finch was looking at him with a soft amusement. 

“She just took a liking to you at random?” Finch asked suddenly. Ingram looked up astonished and wildly pleased. 

Shaw and Root chose that moment to saunter into the room. 

“No, I was introduced by one of my business partners. She’s the cousin of his wife,” John explained. He hadn’t forgotten about his favor to Zoe but it was becoming clear that Ingram wanted just the same favor. 

“Oh really? Did they say how long she would be in town?” Ingram asked. John wondered just how starved he was for some sort of new friendship or if he was always so open with his interest in a particular woman when they hadn’t even been introduced. 

“Are you inviting her to the ball too?” Root asked before John could say any more. 

“We’re having a ball are we?” Finch asked before either could answer. 

“It’ll be fun,” Ingram said, turning to his chair to face Finch. 

“So you said about the dance the other night,” Finch pointed out. John smiled and for just a flicker Finch’s eyes met his and the smile was returned.

“But we met such interesting people because of it,” Root said with a little song in her voice and a smile on her lips.

Finch held her gaze for a long moment then looked at Ingram. An entire conversation was playing out between the three of them with Shaw and John had been left as spectators. Just when John was starting to consider excusing himself Ingram turned to him. “What about you, John? If we had a ball would you come?”

There was nothing John wanted less than to attend another dance let alone a full ball. “Of course. And I’d be happy to introduce you to Miss Morgan, I’m sure she’ll be in town for a while.” One of these times he was going to have to point out to Carter that despite her complaints sometimes he could be nice to other people. Maybe he’d save that for when his intentions were a little less clouded by his desire to try and corner Finch.

“Very well,” Finch surrendered. 

“Then it’s settled,” Ingram said with clear delight. “The week after next.”

“Beautiful,” Root said. Even when she managed to be pleased about something she looked just a little bored and like she was up to something. 

“Then I think, we’ve kept our guests too long, I’m sure they’re eager to be home,” Finch said in an obvious dismissal. 

“But of course if you’d like to stay you’re more than welcome,” Ingram amended. 

“We’ll go,” Shaw said and then turned out of the room. 

“Thank you for breakfast. We’ll have to have you over for tea soon,” John said and then moved his way out of the room and to follow Shaw out. A maid appeared right outside the door and led them downstairs to the door and the front door where a man was leading their horses freshly brushed and saddled out to meet them. With their thanks John and Shaw rode home. 

It was a silent ride as they navigated the muddy main road, as it usually was when the two of them were alone together. They bickered some like most siblings but Shaw seemed more than content to keep her own counsel and that meant even if John did have a million questions about Shaw’s time with the trio in the house she wouldn’t be answering them. Even still John had questions that Shaw couldn’t answer. 

The whole situation put him on edge if he was honest with himself. Shaw was distrustful by nature and the series of people who had made their way into and out of Shaw’s life had only made her more so. Whatever spell Root had put her under to make her comfortable enough to stay overnight must have been quite something, even if Shaw looked furious about it now that they were well away from the house. Shaw had always been a sort of touchstone to judge the rest of the world against and how much he should bother to trust them. Now his touchstone was compromised and he needed to remember to think clearly. Shaw deserved some time to be happy and have a real friendship. John would have to be the touchstone. 

The three of them obviously screamed danger to every one of John’s instincts but his curiosity was quickly winning out. Why were they here? What could he get out of them? Why did Finch know so much about him? How much more did Finch know? Did he know that much about everyone or what John special? None of the questions helped him but maybe he could try to get some answers.

* * *

_Dear Mr. Finch,_

_It was a pleasure to have made your acquaintance at your home for breakfast and cards. You are most welcome to come to our home anytime. I hope you’ll forgive me asking; what division did you serve in the military? I didn’t think many people knew where I was when I was gone but you did._

_Sincerely,_

_John Reese_

John wrote the letter almost the second he returned home and instructed the housekeeper to hold it for a day and when she went to town tomorrow to leave it with the mail and it would be delivered the next day or the day after. He wanted to seem interested and prompt but not concerned with how Finch knew the information. In truth there were hundreds of ways to find out where and when John had been stationed anywhere if you had the resources and resources were one thing that Finch didn’t lack. 

Three days later John was delivered letter with tight curled handwriting that looked carefully practiced and cared for. He opened it to find a short note that still made his lip curl in a grin. He loved a good challenge. 

_Dear Mr. Reese,_

_We will have to take you up on that offer sometime, though Root and Nathan have thrown themselves fully into planning the ball and that means I must as well. Perhaps we can discus the ball over lunch. I’m sure your input would be irreplaceable._

_I don’t begrudge you asking, Mr. Reese. You may ask me any question you like and I will not lie to you. And because of my promise never to lie to you I must tell you that I never served in the military._

_Sincerely,_

_Harold Finch_

John quickly wrote back with a smile still on his lips. Soon John and Harold were exchanging letters every day, though they were closer to notes than full letters. John no longer cared how quickly he replied. There wasn’t much for company in town and Finch was always just as quick with his reply. He was also true to his promise from what John could tell and vet though the days. Some of it John just instinctually knew was true. Like when Harold had asked John for his opinion between two enclosed pieces of cloth to decide between for the tablecloths and had written that Nathan had been agonizing over the choice for days. Some things he did have to send out inquires, just like he had regarding every other piece of information that Harold seemed to enjoy giving out like prizes to a puzzle. 

The opportunity to see each other in person came more quickly than either of them had anticipated when Shaw invited Root for lunch and Finch had decided to tag along, or Shaw had gotten involved and had invited him on John’s behalf. John was sure he would never know which was true and couldn’t tell if he wanted to know. 

Root and Finch appeared the next day for lunch side by side at the front door. John let them in with Shaw only a few steps behind him and Bear at his side looking anxious to be allowed to play with his new friends. Finch looked just as anxiously back down at the large dog but still took the time to run his fingers through the fur at the top of Bear’s head. Root was much more excited to pet the dog and stooped down to give him a kiss on the head. 

When John turned around to lead them into the dining room Shaw was pretending not to grin at the sight and short him glare when he made a point of his noticing. 

Shaw was in a black dress with her hair pulled back in a ponytail from her ride and playing in the yard earlier with Bear. Root’s hair was pinned up away from her face in a bun with a hair band that matched her red dress. John was in his usual black cutaway jacket and white shirt, which was a boring contrast to Finch’s outfit. Finch was in a dark blue jacket and a white vest that was embroidered with green vines with blue flowers matching the jacket that went up the center of the vest. 

Root went for the chair next to Shaw who had moved ahead of the group and was already sitting when the three of them walked into the dining room. In less than a second the two of them were locked in a hushed conversation that neither Finch not John wanted any part of.

John sat down across from the women and Finch sat next to him. A lunch of meats, cheeses, and some of the last good apples of the season was served. Bear whined at John’s feet until he sent him away to lie curled up near the fire in his bed and just watched them all with the saddest of eyes. 

“How’s the planning of the ball going?” John asked.

Finch gave him a look that screamed of years of exasperation with his roommates. “It’s been a challenge, especially for Nathan.” 

“Really?”

“Nathan, as much as he loves the country, finds he’s not quite used to country living, nor the pace of it,” Finch explained with a grin. 

“And you’re more familiar with the pace of country life?” John asked. 

“Maybe I’m just more adaptable?” Finch offered instead of any real answer. 

“Maybe.” John agreed. “What part of London did you grow up in?” 

“When I grew up was a long time ago, Mr. Reese.” Finch took a bite of apple.

“So long ago that you forgot where you grew up?” John grinned. 

“Well you see, I’m immortal,” Finch said with a completely straight face and in such a bland tone that for a split second John almost believed him. “It’s a side effect of my vampirism.” 

“Drinking the blood of innocents. Tsk tsk,” Root said from the other side of the table. 

This time John had managed to remember that other people were in the room when he was speaking to Finch though he hadn’t noticed that they had both been leaning in ever so much closer as they spoke and had jolted away from one another once Root spoke. Shaw was giving him a look that must have been identical to the one that he had sent her way earlier and he glared right on back. 

The two women were finally serving themselves some food and had taken notice of John and Finch’s conversation. John put a large bite of soft cheese with bread in his mouth that required a lot of chewing while the rest of them carried on a conversation. Finch looked back at him at one point when he had been silent for a while and almost gave him a full smile. John assured himself that his heart did not flutter in his chest. 

Sure he was physically attracted to Finch, but John had been attracted to a lot of people in his life that he didn’t go risking life and limb just to go to bed with. Instead John focused his energy on trying to find out exactly whom these two people who had strode into his and Shaw’s life so confidently with a handle on information that John had thought confidential. 

There were enough skeletons in John’s closets let alone the ones that he had inherited and the secrets Shaw kept from even him and he needed to make sure they were protected. He didn’t have the time to be won over and emotional. The last time he had done that he had almost cost Jessica everything. He needed to focus; there wasn’t any time for emotion. 

Unfortunately the rest of his interrogation didn’t go great. Both Root and Harold were experts at steering a conversation exactly where they wanted it to go and the only thing that John learned about Harold was that the man enjoyed hot air balloons and might have been there during the first flight and was trying to improve upon the design. If John was honest he had become a bit distracted at that. 

He had seen a few fly but had never been up himself since Britain never made the investment in the balloons once Napoleon had disbanded France’s own use. John had never understood why and from the way Finch was talking there was more of a future to it that either the French or the Royal Army thought. 

“The real trouble for long term flight has always been controlling the temperature for long,” Finch said. 

“Then it’s really having fuel that’s the problem, not the air temperature,” John argued. 

“We just need a more efficient fuel source that’s easier to contain,” Harold countered and they continued on like that. Shooting ideas back and forth until John and Harold were both grinning and Shaw and Root were rolling their eyes and excusing themselves from the table. 

There was a slight lull in the conversation at one point not long after the ladies had left for a walk through the gardens, though they were vegetable gardens and not like the pretty trimmed hedges of Netherfield. “I’m sorry, Finch, but you don’t sound like you’re from London,” John said. 

Harold gave him a long assessing look. “And where do I sound like I’m from?”

“The north,” John said. 

Harold took a second and clearly considered his answers before he spoke. “You might be right. You would be familiar with northern accents.”

A chill ran through John but it was tempered by the disarming charm Finch had to him. Something that inspired some trust in him. Maybe it was just the fact that he held all the information but hadn’t told anyone yet. It still didn’t get rid of the fact that Finch was hinting at on of John and Shaw’s most deeply held secrets. He really needed to keep his head on straight if he was going to keep every secret buried. John also considered that maybe the best way to do that was to follow Shaw’s lead and win over the new secret keepers so they didn’t want to out them. 

The first few letters had been a little stilted and distant but soon John was looking forward to the letters delivery every day. The invitation to the ball came with a letter from Finch as well. There was also one for Shaw that John assumed was for Root but he wasn’t about to put his life on the line by opening a letter. 

_Dear Mr. Reese,_

_I know that you said the afternoon of our first meeting that you would want to attend a ball here at Netherfield and I extend this invitation in hopes that you will accept it, though I will not hold you to it. Your company would be a great addition to the party. I hope you decide to come._

_Yours truly,_

_Harold Finch_

Writing the RSVP with a note of his own didn’t take John more than the time it took to find his paper and pen. The problem was once the note was written he knew he couldn’t send it. He had forgotten himself in the past weeks of writing letters and now he took a step back and read what he wrote. 

_Harold,_

_You know I wouldn’t miss a chance to corner you in person. There wasn’t even a point to sending the invitation, I’ll be there I just hope you’ll save me a dance._

_John_

It had seemed right when he had written it but now he saw how familiar it was and how borderline flirtatious it was. There had been many letters of John needling Harold, hoping to provoke a joke out of him or maybe even a slight shake to writing to show that just a little deeper into what Harold was thinking all the time. It was exactly the type of thing that John would write to provoke a response and it made him sit at his desk for hours contemplating if it was risky, if someone were to look at his past and figure him out. 

Eventually as he got too tired to continue thinking about it he decided that if Harold was going to find something wrong with his easy flirting then he would have had a problem before then. The danger was in the combination of his flirting and his past. Finch though, seemed to have John’s whole history laid out in front of him where more than a few indiscretions could be found. With the realization that Finch had probably already judged him John went sealed the note and left it out to be sent in the morning.

* * *

The sun had long been set when John and Shaw’s carriage got in line in front of Netherfield with enough of carriages that it looked like the whole county was there. It would be a while before they were in the party and John allowed himself to take a moment to refocus. Before they had even left the house John had known his goal for the day was to get new information from Finch, to figure him or even the other two just a bit. 

In the past weeks while he’d been exchanging letters with Finch he had also been reaching out to every contact that he had to see if any of them knew Harold Finch. Not everyone responded and only three letters were able to reach him before the ball.

One was from one of his men in London who said that they knew of Harold Finch but he had never heard anything more than a few rumors told by a friend of a friend of a cousin. The main rumors being that he was a duke from another country, the country varied by the storyteller, who had managed to prefect an accent and blend in. The other theory was that he was a commoner from the country that had snuck his way into high society by blackmailing Ingram into companionship. 

Another came from a contact in Manchester who said that all they knew about Finch or IFT was that half the machines in the city were built by them and they kept their own mechanics on staff in the city. The mechanics were well paid and the machines were well maintained but most of them had only ever met Ingram if they had met any of the trio. They found him charming but a little arrogant and John had to agree.

The last came from a secretary at Cambridge and she had the most interesting of all the information. There was no record of a Harold Finch in the admissions office. There were quite a few Harolds that were admitted around the same time as Nathan Ingram. John asked her send copies of any of the Harolds that didn’t have long family history. Unfortunately it wouldn’t be back for a few days most likely. 

When they finally came to a stop in front of the house Shaw exited the carriage first. Her dress was black and flowed around her with the breeze. Her hair was pinned up but she didn’t bother with a cap for the night. She waited half a beat for John to climb out in his black jacket, stark white shirt, and white ascot. As soon as they were both a few feet away from the carriage it pulled away and other pulled into the spot they had just been.

They walked up the steps that had been lit up with large candles on each end. The door to the hall was open and the sound of an orchestra playing was buried under the sound of hundreds of voices chatting.

Inside was just as crowded as he had expected. The chandelier had been lit with hundreds of candles and candelabras were all around the room hall lighting the striped wallpaper that reflected light back out just a little. The dancing hadn’t started and people were still milling around filling dance cards and catching up. He scanned the room and spotted a few friends. Carter was giving Taylor a pep talk and Fusco was talking to his wife and Zoe was entertaining a man in a black jacket with bright red hair. She nodded when she saw John spot her but John kept walking into the next room. 

There was a staircase that must have lead upstairs to some of the bedrooms that was roped off. The crowd was thinner in this hall but not by much. He spotted Ingram here talking to a group of men as they moved back into the card room. John followed long enough to check the room for Finch and still couldn’t find him. 

Without access to John’s preferred source of information he decided for a more direct approach. John straightened up and put on a bored face and started to walk towards the staircase. A few people turned to look at him but no one dared say anything just in case he had been asked to go upstairs by one of the fantastically rich hosts. 

He continued up the stairs and started to look through the rooms, no longer looking for Finch but instead looking for an office. He found one three quarters of the way down the hall, or at least a locked door. With a few pins and keys of a homemade lock picking kit John undid the lock and forced his way through. He quietly shut the door behind him. There was enough light to see by from the moon spilling in through the open windows and little light that was coming up from the torches on the lawn. 

The room was in fact an office with books lining one wall and sheets of paper on a few desks. There was a series of shelves with small mechanical models of things John didn’t recognize. John tried some of the drawers in one of the desks. One of them was unlocked but just had some ink and pens. The next he had to pick the lock but inside was a series of sheets of paper clipped together. John grabbed a few of the clipped together papers and found one section was for Mrs. Hanson, some family history, some interesting pieces of trivia about her past that John made sure to memorize, along with a note about her habit of getting involved in everyone’s lives. John moved to the next and found a similar set of information for Mr. Hanson and one for Fusco, though Fusco’s had a few more notes about his character that John thought might have been earned but unnecessary. He grabbed the largest stack and saw his own name along with a small sketching of him, all along with a list of his military assignments, his family history, his previous relationships. It was all in an obsessive amount of detail. 

Behind him the door opened and John turned to see Finch standing in the doorway. John gave him his most charming smile that Finch just returned with an icy glare. 

“Mr. Reese, is there a reason you’re in here and not at the party?” Finch asked.

“I was looking for you.”

“In the drawer?”

“Well, you did show up,” John said, not dropping his grin for a second, though it was becoming a little more genuine. 

Finch stepped farther into the room. “I thought you had an appreciation for others privacy, Mr. Reese. Is it not a prerequisite for you job?”

“The opposite, really. Though shouldn’t your research have found all of that out?” John asked. “Do you have a file on everyone in town?”

Finch continued into the room until he was standing in front of John. “I like to know my neighbors, Mr. Reese.” He plucked the papers from John’s hands and placed them back in the drawer. “Allow me to escort you back downstairs. I’m sure your sister must be missing you.”

“And here I thought the party was just getting started.”

“You may stay, just not in my office. I’m a very private person.”

“Of course you are,” John said but followed him out of the room. In the light of the corridor he could see that Harold’s jacket was a deep black that didn’t even tease of being another color or having been worn before. His shirt was also shinning white that most shirts weren’t even that bright when they were new. The only other color was the silk cravat around his neck that was dark red. They walked in silence until they got to the top of the steps and John broke it. 

“You throw a nice party,” John said. 

“Nathan and Root throw a nice party,” Finch corrected. “I just attend.” 

“Well it looks like they’ve invited the whole county,” John said. 

“I’d be surprised if Nathan didn’t invite the whole country,” Finch said with a small smile. John guessed that there was probably a whole slew of complaints that Finch had against Ingram, but when he smiled like that it reminded John of someone who was heartsick. 

“He must have a lot of friends,” John said. 

“More and more every day,” Finch said.

“And you?”

“Didn’t your research reveal how many friends I have?” Finch said.

“Do you keep a list of friends in your desk that I missed?” John asked. The reached the bottom of the steps but continued on into the card room. 

“Not your snooping in my office, Mr. Reese, but your inquiries into my past to your friends.” Finch didn’t look any more interested or concerned than he did when he found John going through his desk. It was more like he was entertained. Probably because he knew that nothing worth any value had come back. 

They both found a corner near the back, and stood close together so they could continue to speak without too high of a risk of being overheard. John didn’t have an answer to that particular question though and stayed silent. 

“I don’t resent your investigation, Mr. Reese,” Finch said, and he was almost smiling. “Though I’d appreciate it if you would stay out of my office. If I need your help with my work I will ask.”

“Good to know,” John said but was lost in thought. He had expected to find something that office or he wouldn’t have taken the risk to look, but a desk full of detailed files on everyone that John had ever known was worse than expected. There was power in secrets and while John had let himself slip into a state of foolish trust to the man in question there was a delicate balance to secrets and John didn’t need that disrupted.

“I’m afraid you won’t find anything of interest anyway.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that, Finch,” John said. 

“Really? And what did you find that was of so fascinating?”

“Harold Finch never went to Cambridge,” John said, keeping any satisfaction out of his voice but letting a little amusement in. 

“Your source should check their records again,” Finch said. “I think they’ll find that I did, in fact, graduate.”

“Maybe, but were you admitted?” John asked. 

Finch just looked up at him with a smile like he had earned something. John wondered if he ever made that look when he read John’s letters before he thought better of it and remembered not to. He had expected for his infatuation with Finch to fade once they were in front of each other again, but the sight of him had only sparked the feelings in his chest out of control. Finch might have been amendable to his flirting when it was on paper and could be ignored for what it was, John staring at him with hearts in his eyes in person was a whole other problem, looming danger of secrets or not.

In the main hall the music had stopped for a while and the whole house quieted as they first dances were starting. In front of them the card game broke up almost immediately once the men, including Ingram realized what was happening. A few of the older partiers stayed at their tables but most everyone trailed out of the room. Finch made no move towards the door. 

“Won’t you be dancing tonight, Mr. Reese?”

“I’ve never had much rhythm,” John said. 

Finch looked unimpressed by his lame excuse. “I’m sure there’s a lucky lady who would be happy to compensate for that with you.” He started his way to the hall then and John followed him. 

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” John said.

They posted themselves together near the wall and close enough to the orchestra that it would take more effort to be heard than usual but close enough to John’s group of friends that when the time came to introduce Ingram to Zoe it would seem almost natural. Shaw was nowhere to be seen but neither was Root so he expected they were somewhere causing trouble together. If not Shaw was probably tormenting some poor soul just for the entertainment. 

For the first few dances the floor was almost too full to accommodate everyone’s movements and a few of the spectators filed out into other rooms to make room. Finch didn’t seem too concerned with making small talk but watched the room with sharp eyes. It was with a start that John realized why he was watching Finch watch the room. Finch looked at a room full of people by scanning the room constantly for threats, eyes darting from unexpected movement to new people every instant. Something in it made John want to see the threat too and maybe to protect Finch from it. The origin of that instinct hadn’t been found yet but he knew it was the larger danger than anyone in the room. 

After the third dance Ingram came to them instead of to a new dance partner. “John, I’m so glad you could make it.” 

“So am I,” John said. He didn’t waste any time on the next step of his plan. He took three steps to the left, drawing Finch and Ingram with him. “I’d like to introduce you to my colleagues.”

He introduced Carter first. Her gold dress swayed when she curtsied and the men bowed to her. She was just as suspicious of them as she was to him as she glanced between the three of them. One half glance at Zoe and she understood the game. Taylor was off dancing with a beautiful girl so he moved to the next family. 

The Fuscos took the introduction as gracefully as John had ever seen them. Fusco had schemed his way to landownership and sometimes when he had to meet people too far out of his comfort zone that rougher side of him showed a little more clearly. Finch and Ingram both seemed entertained by his attempt to flatten his accent. Knowing that Finch had a file on every person at the party made it clear they knew he was struggling. Finch having lied into his own spot probably only added to the joke in their minds. 

Last he introduced Zoe. Ingram made a show of his bow and interest in her immediately and John wondered how he had become such a rich and powerful man with the subtlety of a rhinoceros. Finch seemed happy to strike up a conversation with Carter and ignore the other two. 

“If you don’t mind me asking about business; how do you keep track of so many theiftakers from a centralized location, and one so far outside of London?” Finch asked, his curiosity at their work shining through. 

The night dragged on with music, dancing, and laughing all around the group. At dinner Finch had to separate from John and the rest of the group that had been placed in the middle of the table near Root while Finch and Ingram were on opposite sides of the long table. Carter asked him why he was smiling at the tablecloth but he brushed it off that he was hungry and ready to eat. She didn’t believe him but looked at Finch who was watching them both closely.

* * *

The morning after the ball John woke late. He pulled on his pants, a shirt, and jacket but didn’t bother to groom himself too closely for his day in. The shirt was a little open at the top and the jacket wasn’t buttoned, just enough to keep his arms warm in the cool house.

Downstairs in the kitchen the bread for the day had already been baked and only held a trace of its original warmth where it sat on the counter. He thought about calling the cook in from wherever she was but decided he could make his own tea. Lily was probably off shopping or collecting things from the garden. Things that were much more important than finding him breakfast when he had missed his usual time. 

He went to his office with a tray of torn off bread with butter and jam and a kettle of tea. With winter coming there had been a rash of thefts as people started to store up for winter supplies and some of the more expensive houses were missing things that would have to go to real fences. Carter and Fusco had taken most of them off his plate but he still spent his breakfast looking through tips and scribbling short replies and relays of intelligence reports before forwarding them off to Carter and Fusco. 

By the time the housekeeper came into his study with a note from Finch he only had a few tips yet and the sun was high and streaming through the study windows and his tea was long gone. Without much debate with himself John abandoned the last three pieces of his work and opened the letter as his dishes were taken away. 

_Mr. Reese,_

_It was a pleasure to have you in our company last night. All of us here hope that you feel quite the same and hope that you will join us again. Nathan, in particular, is most grateful for your introduction to Miss. Morgan, they seem to have hit it off quite well._

_Should you ever desire company you should only need to ask. I’m sure that you would have a prompt response._

_Harold Finch_

John had to stop himself from smiling at the letter with a reminder about papers in a desk.

* * *

In the week that directly followed the ball John didn’t hear from Finch at all after the initial letter. Shaw continued to receive notes from their messenger but there was never anything for him. The sharp pain that sat in his chest was quickly turning into bitterness despite his rational brain telling him that there could be any number of reasons that Finch hadn’t written back. He was a busy man, John was sure and he didn’t owe John anything. That, of course, made John remember that he didn’t owe anything to Finch and stopped thinking about it completely until he was lying in bed on the verge of sleep. 

The new silence also made it easy to focus on his now doubled efforts to figure out exactly who the trio was. It wasn’t that the efforts had ever flagged but finding a desk full of files on everyone in town made John reevaluate his assessment of the threat they may pose. It made him reevaluate just about everything about the whole situation. 

He brought Carter and Fusco into it too. They weren’t immediately into investigating three people who had only ever been polite to them though a little mysterious. One mention of the files in the drawing room and they were reaching out to all their favorite contacts for any information. 

When the list of other Harolds had finally arrived from Cambridge it only had a few names on it and each came with what family history Cambridge had managed to wrangle together. John combed through every one of them and if he hadn’t spent the first few years of his life living on the street near the Scottish boarder and the rest of his life learning other peoples secrets he might not have spotted the inaccuracies in one of them. The name attached to it was Harold Wren and John was sure that he had found the first piece of the puzzle. 

They sent out additional probes about Harold Wren and they finally found the beginning of something helpful. He had been admitted to Cambridge on the recommendation letter from a Duke who had moved to the Netherlands to study. Any other history of Harold Wren was laid out carefully and it was only under repeated and intense scrutiny that John found anything at all. 

Ingram was the easiest to discover a torrid past of repeated affairs before and after the death of his wife. His youth was as cookie cutter as it came for the people of his status and it would almost be fishy how normal it was compared to Finch if it wasn’t for the fact that John, Carter, and Fusco had all gotten the impression of just how used to partying he was and there was already the obvious lie of Finch just being a tertiary member of his company.

There was little information on Root given the fact that no one in the group even knew what her actual name was. Zoe had put it best when she had said that the woman had appeared out of nowhere. Though Carter had suggested that Root was another engineer that let Ingram take the majority of the credit for. There had been a new design patented by IFT in the months following her first appearance with Finch and Ingram. 

The research was slow going and it only made John wonder more –when he had time in the dead of night when he couldn’t sleep – how exactly Harold had managed to get so much information on the whole town so quickly. They would have had to be planning the move for months with all of their items and the lease to be ironed out but there was no way to collect that kind of information on everyone in that span of time. John at least knew his file had been easy, the military had always loved writing things down. Shaw on the other hand didn’t seem worried about the files. 

“He already has them, who cares how he got them,” she said one morning over breakfast after another sleepless night of trying to connect two more aliases together. “Besides, it probably wasn’t hard. The whole towns made of gossips and half of you have military records.”

“Why does he have access to military records?” John asked. 

“Did you forget how rich people work? Like truly rich people? They ask; people give.” After that she left to go to town to buy a few new guns that the shopkeeper had told them would be coming in. 

The silence was broken two weeks after the ball when Shaw came into his office and tossed a letter onto his desk and walked back out while reading her own note. He broke the gray seal of a little bird that John couldn’t recognize, though he was sure it wasn’t a finch. It was an invitation to dinner for John; though Finch’s note made it obvious that Shaw had also been invited in her own note written by Root. He replied his acceptance and then tried to figure out why there was an invitation for a private tea coming so suddenly just as they were starting to make progress. It was so obviously written on his face that Shaw mocked him at dinner. 

“It’s not a trap, you worry too much.”

“I’m cautious,” John countered.

“You’re a chicken.”

“Sameen, we have secrets that actually need protecting,” John snapped. “And they have them written down in a drawer with everyone else.”

“You’re military records are not that important, _John,_.”

“That’s all I saw in the second I got with those files. I’d bet there’s a whole lot more than where I was stationed. And I didn’t even get to yours.”

“You’re really giving us too much credit, John. We’re not that exciting.”

“I think Peter Arndt’s family would disagree, don’t you?”

Shaw went quiet for a long second. “There is no proof of what happened to Arndt’s carriage. And no one’s going to fight for that monster.”

“You killed someone, monster or not. People generally don’t take kindly to their family members being murdered.”

“He was hurting Jessica and you were in Spain. I took care of a problem. I won’t apologize for saving her.”

“I’m not asking you too. But you need to take the threat of people finding out seriously.”

“And you think the solution to make them not rat us out is to hide away from them?” 

“I’m saying let’s have clear heads about this,” John short back. 

“I do have a clear head about this. Do what you want. Either way I’m going.” 

“Like there was any doubt,” John said and she just stared at him blankly.

She turned back to her dinner and they finished eating in silence. 

The next day they arrived at Netherfield in a carriage. Shaw’s hair was down and her dress was heavier in a concession to the cold that had quickly crept down from the north now that it was mid November. John’s black jacket was also a little heavier but it was still just plain black with a white shirt underneath. 

When they arrived a woman came out the door looking just a little out of breath as she lead them in and through the house to the solarium. “Did something happen today?” John asked.

“What makes you think that something’s happened?” she asked, feigning ignorance. 

Shaw gave her a disbelieving look and the woman surrendered, apparently Shaw was capable to establish a rapport with actual humans. “Mr. Ingram’s son arrived a few days early unannounced, nothing too drastic,” she said with a smile. 

“Still messes you all up a bit,” Shaw commented. 

She looked like she wanted to agree but then thought better of it. “Schedules are made to be broken.”

They arrived at the door where inside Root was sitting next to Finch and Ingram and a younger man, not much out of his teens if at all were standing in the corner talking. Ingram looked ecstatic and for once Finch had allowed himself a full smile, not just the smirk to mock John’s guesses about his past. Then Root turned to see them and touched Finch’s elbow who turned to look at them. Or maybe gape at John was a more apt description of the look he gave them. It was almost like he was surprised that John was in his home at all. 

“Please, sit,” Finch said, gaining the attention of the young man who Ingram was still trying to trap in a conversation. 

Shaw sat in the empty seat next to Root and John fixed himself next to Finch. There were still two more empty seats that hadn’t been touched that John assumed were for Ingram and the young man. 

“Hello, I’m William Ingram, please though, call me Will,” the young man introduced. He took a seat next to Finch and Ingram looking put out followed him to the table. Obviously distraught that he had lost his conversation partner to the group. 

“John Reese, this is my sister, Shaw,” John said, shaking the hand of the man. “Nice to meet you.” He was having to split his attention between the younger Ingram in front of him and that was quick to talk and smile and Finch who’s face was doing all sort of interesting movements that made John want to stare. The expressions were passing too quickly to get a good idea of them. Harold must have sensed this because he turned his full attention to John. Even with how quickly John felt he was getting familiar with Harold there was still something in his challenging look that made John’s breath catch in his throat. 

“It’s nice that you’ve made such good friends out here,” Will commented. He stopped for a beat like he was waiting for someone to correct him. For the first time John noticed how sharply intelligent his eyes were behind his good humor, John wondered if Ingram used to have that same sharpness. It was no surprise that both Ingrams seemed locked in a nonverbal communication before Will turned to Root who was watching with amusement. She had probably seen conversations like that a million times and was probably as clear as a spoken word. “Especially you, Root. I didn’t know you were capable of friendship let alone courtship.”

“Will,” Harold and Nathan both snapped in clear warning. It was almost startling and absolute surprising to hear both men snap so sharp. Even Root looked more surprised than amused for once. 

“Well John and I are madly in love,” Root said. John tried not to spit out his tea but still choked. 

“It shows,” Will said and the whole conversations seemed to be filled with more secrets and silent warnings. 

“I hear there has been an uptick in thefts even outside the city. That must be good for business,” Nathan said, obviously derailing the current conversation any way he could. Will didn’t seem to care that they were all having a family squabble in front of strangers and John only found it more interesting. Maybe he’d be able to get some new information from this Will Ingram. Finch on the hand looked exasperated with the young Will, though not quite scandalized and John wondered if it was the manners or the clear willingness to say anything that irritated Finch. 

John let the conversation continue with all of his attention for once and tried to steer it to Will whenever he could. The young man either didn’t know how secretive his father’s friends were or he didn’t care. John didn’t care which and neither did Shaw from the way that she was focused on him. Sometimes having her as a sister proved worth the trouble she caused. 

Before long though they had finished their dinner and Marcella came in to let them know that a fire had been lit in the green sitting room. 

Ingram the elder told them to bring a few wines from the cellar to the drawing room. They all filed out of the solarium, which was all the better as darkness was beginning to fall with early winter night. 

The green room lived up to its name with green wallpaper that looked to shine with reflecting the flickering light of the fire and the sparse candles around the room. There was a large carpet in the middle of the room with varying shades of green outlining a pattern that seemed to be trying to imitate tree branches. Long soft light green drapes hung at the windows. That, thankfully, was where the theme ended. 

There was also a large piano in the corner next to the dark windows and a few armchairs next to the fire and more near a table that had a few pastries and bottles of wine. 

It didn’t take long, just the distribution of the wine, for the group to break apart. The Ingrams went to the fire, happy to finally have the time to catch up and reminisce. Shaw and Root sat at the piano to flirt and play short parts of songs. Finch went to the bookshelf and chose a book to sit alone. John didn’t let that last. 

As soon as he had sat John brought him a jam tartlet and sat in the chair next to him. Harold looked up at him and took the tart. “Thank you.” It was almost absentminded. 

“Did you think you could get away from me this easily?” John asked with a grin. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Finch said. “Your persistence is remarkable.”

“That’s why you like me isn’t it?” John said with a grin. 

“There are a good many reasons why I like you, Mr. Reese,” Finch said. Warmth spread through John’s whole body. He didn’t blush but he was grateful for the shadows of the room anyway. For his part Harold seemed no more affected by what he had just said than if he had announced the weather. 

John didn’t have a good response to that either so he took a drink of his wine and stayed silent. After a while and Finch had taken a bite of his tart John broke their silence. “You’re a fan of bird watching?”

Finch’s head snapped to look at him and he was close to startle before it relaxed. “My father had a passion for birds, some of it seems to have worn off on me. Do you?” 

“I’m certainly learning to.” 

Finch was back to looking startled for just a second before he visibly brushed aside the comment. 

“Were there a lot of interesting birds in the Netherlands?”

Finch looked just a little annoyed like John had done something he had expected and still disappointed him. “Still chasing my shadow?” Finch asked.

“Like you said, I’m persistent.” 

“Will you leave it alone if I tell you that I enjoyed the Netherlands but love my country so I had to return?” 

“Not likely,” John said with a grin. 

“Didn’t think so,” Finch said though he was smiling. 

Will stood up from his seat next to his father and clapped him on the shoulder then rounded around behind Finch and tapped his shoulder too. “I’m going to bed. I’ll see you tomorrow. Mum says hello by the way.” 

For a second Finch didn’t seem phased at the comment regarding Will’s supposedly dead mother then his eyes snapped up and he stared at Will’s retreating back in surprise and confusion. 

“William, your mother is dead, remember?” 

Will turned back from the doorway. He looked between Shaw and John and then gave a half shrug. “Chalk it up to a séance?” 

Nathan signed loudly. “We’ve talked about the ghost summoning, Will.” 

“They just run rampant in America though,” Will said with a wink and then left the room. 

Finch looked at Reese and they both knew that Will Ingram hadn’t been summoning ghosts in America.

* * *

John looked down at his desk that was still neatly organized desk. A stack of blank papers on one edge next to his pen and inkwell, his stack of letters that he need to answer sat on the other edge and in the middle of the dark wood sat a death certificate from three years ago for Olivia Ingram wife of Nathan Ingram and mother of William Henry Ingram.

There was no doubt that Olivia Ingram was the woman that Will had been speaking about which explained the scandalized look on Harold and Nathan when he had said she sent her regards. Maybe the kid was just into the occult and séances. It seemed like an unlikely option but stranger things had happened and richer men had been seduced by the idea of reaching to the other side. 

Still, something nagged in the back of his mind about the combination of the kids recent return from America yet utter avoidance of the topic at dinner. He had seemed so ready to dive into everyone else’s stories and jab at secrets yet it was obvious he had no desire to discuss even the most mundane parts of his trip like if he had stayed with family or friend. 

It also wasn’t much of a stretch to believe that Harold could have documents forged. They had quickly found that he had had documents forged countless times for countless identities. One death certificate and maybe a new identity for a woman that was going to far away for anyone to truly attempt to verify or probably even to care to verify. 

John picked up one of the blank sheets of paper and moved the death certificate aside. He wondered if just once he might be able to get a real answer out of Finch. 

_Dearest Mr. Finch,_

_Your godson Will is quite the interesting character. I wonder if he gets that from his mother. After all, it’s pretty interesting how your son could visit you when you’ve been dead for three years. Why is that, Finch? How is Will’s mother sending her regards to you when her death certificate was issued three years ago?_

_Yours,_

_John_

Even as John sealed it with wax he assumed he wouldn’t get a straight answer. He knew one thing about Finch definitively and that was that the man loved a good mystery especially if he could be the mystery himself. The other thing that John was mostly sure of was that Finch was happy to leave breadcrumbs to be followed because he enjoyed watching John chase ever lead. 

When the letter arrived the next morning from Finch John was sorely disappointed to find a complete shut down on the page. 

_Mr. Reese,_

_Everyone has their secrets. How I receive the regards from Olivia must remain one of mine._

_Sincerely,_

_Mr. Finch_

It was short and concise, John had to give him that, but it was also cutting to John’s very core. He remembered a desk drawer full of notes and was suddenly very angry. He didn’t bother responding to the letter, just stuffed it in the drawer and tried to forget about it. 

Forgetting about it though was not an option. He was still curious about the trio and his new irritation with Harold had managed to shake him from his temporary grappling with digging into every aspect of their past. Finch didn’t get to have secrets his own secrets if everyone else had theirs written and stored in a locked drawer clipped to their family’s sheets. 

Even still he didn’t tell Carter and Fusco about Will’s mother or Finch’s note, though they both seemed to notice his shift from idle curiosity to determined digging. This suited them just fine.

If Finch and Ingram were able to get death certificates and papers to send Olivia across the ocean to start a new life then they obviously had connections through the government and enough money to make anyone else look the other way. With neither being from the higher peerage the manipulation made the hair on the back of John’s neck stand up. Their connections had likely been bought with secrets on sheets of paper stuffed into a desk. 

The trio had all been obviously aware of the power that they possessed with their money, and with Shaw, John, Carter, and Fusco it had been clear they had power in secrets that they were even more confident in than the money. They also weren’t hesitant to use either to get what they wanted. No one could know how many of their secrets were written on sheets of paper and stuffed out of sight. John couldn’t be sure of how much power the three of them genuinely had. 

Two months went by without another letter or note exchanged between John and Finch. Shaw and Root were still visiting each other often and sometimes when Root was at their house she would make a stray comment about Finch to John, but John had spent a lot of his life pretending not to care and he was very good at it. Root didn’t seem to buy his apathy though and Shaw for sure didn’t. 

Two weeks before New Years John received an invitation to another ball. He asked Shaw if she knew why they were having one so close to the last and apparently Nathan and Will had both gotten bored and decided to throw another one for the new year. John sent out their acceptance, which only left his oscillating between moods. 

One part of him had accepted that Finch and the rest of his group were always going to have a layer of mystery surrounding them and that nothing he could do would ever strip any of them to their core. The other part of him though hated that and couldn’t accept it. They had their mystery and intrigue to them yet John and everyone he knew had surrendered their whole lives over for inspection before they knew Netherfield would be occupied again. They were safe from prying eyes and ears and could only be traced to exactly what information Finch wanted out and never anything more. 

Even still there wasn’t much of an option and this year’s new years ball was going to be held at Netherfield and everyone would be there. It would create more questions if John didn’t go.

* * *

Much like the last ball John and Shaw arrived right on time and strode into the hall. Shaw looked as comfortable as if she lived there in her black dress that was cinched just above her waist and fell down to the ground in many layers of black sheer fabric that the layers made opaque. He had never seen it before and even though he kept as little of an eye on his sisters shopping habits as possible he was also sure that no one in town had made the dress either. Her hair was pinned up and away from her face as she looked around the room. 

John made his way through the crowd to where his friends were standing in hopes of being able to make the night pass quickly.

“You’re not off hunting, Finch?” was the first thing out of Carter’s mouth. He probably deserved the jab since he had spent so much of the last ball just standing near Finch to try to absorb information by osmosis. 

“The night’s young,” John said and it was. There were hours of dancing, chatting, dining, and cards left and he knew that in all likelihood there would be no avoiding Finch if Finch decided he was of interest. He doubted the curiosity of his company had fully worn off of Finch. He knew he would never be Finch’s intellectual equal the way that Root obviously was from the way the two threw barbs back at each other in jargon. Still, John was almost sure that no one spent their time openly questioning him when the last man who had was disappeared. 

The night wore on as did the conversation and John estimated that there were two more dances left before dinner was called. There hadn’t been so much as a sighting of the reluctant host of the evening until he walked directly up to John. 

“Hello, Ms. Carter and Mr. Fusco, would you mind if I borrowed Mr. Reese for just a moment?” Finch said. He looked to be genuinely curious to their answer and didn’t make any move to persuade John to come before they had released him from their company.

“Of course,” Carter said with a grin that looked most amused. Sometimes he wondered how much she knew when it came to him. There always seemed to be a reason to think she was on to him and his… feelings. 

John looked down at Harold who just looked up at him patiently. Harold must have known that John was going to go with him and was just waiting to be inconvenient and see if he could push Harold’s buttons. Harold had been harassing him inadvertently for weeks so he might as well give a little hell back. Infuriatingly, Harold didn’t seem fazed. 

“Would you please join me upstairs, Mr. Reese? I could use your opinion on something,” Finch asked when Carter and Fusco started to exchange looks from the sidelines at their staring contest. 

“My pleasure,” John said. Harold made a bow to Carter and Fusco before leading John out of the room. They pushed their way though the crowds of people to the stairs where they could both finally breath easily. 

“I hope you don’t mind me pulling you away from your friends,” Finch said.

“Need help deciding between tablecloths again?” John asked with a smile. Finch seemed to relax just a little, though you wouldn’t guess from his still stiff posture. John wasn’t even sure how he knew that Harold was relaxing a little more with every step away from the party but it was palpable and it made him want to relax more too. 

“Ms. Shaw helped with that question when it came up. Nathan is no more decisive when his son is here than any other times,” Finch said, almost managing to sound genuinely annoyed. 

“You asked Shaw for decorating advice?” John asked. 

Harold stopped at the door of the office that John had found the papers and worked to unlock the door from a key he fished out of his pocket. The small amount of relaxation that had covered his shoulders was lost as he stood at the door. “You didn’t seem keen to offer your advice again this time.”

The door swung open and Harold led him into the room that looked almost the same as it had weeks before except now there were lights scattered around lighting the room and a fire in the hearth. 

Harold walked farther into the room to fuss with the desk and reorganize the stacks of schematics and what looked like half fished letters. “Please close the door, Mr. Reese,” Harold said without turning back to him. 

John did as he was asked and it cut off all the noise of the party except the barest twinkle of music from below. From this angle and situation John was able to watch him for long moments without having to cover up his curiosity. 

Harold was in a dark red jacket that cut away from him with a stark white shirt and a matching red cravat that was pinned under his chin perfectly again. His spectacles sat on his nose perfectly clear and his hair was standing on end on the top of his head in a way that made John want to run his fingers through it and mess it up. 

He really needed to learn how to control his impulses. He was irritated with Harold for his hypocrisy, he reminded himself. 

“You’ve lead me away from a party to your secret office I think you can call me John.”

Harold turned around to smile at him. “Very well, John. Then please call me Harold.”

“Harold,” John said half because he could and half to test it on his tongue. Even from across the room he can see Harold’s smile falter into something a little less proper and more hungry. It sends a bit of a thrill through John to think he might have that effect. 

They stood in silence for a long time like they were locked in a standoff that neither of them remembered signing up for. John started to walk around the edge of the room, playing with the gear models on the shelves while Harold watched him, the urge to speak obvious on his face. 

A song was coming to an end under their feet as John got bored of the mechanics and moved on to the desks. Any second, any step Harold was going to stop him and start explaining why it was that John was up there. John ended up looking down at the desk and seeing his own name on a sheet of paper before Harold did. Downstairs the music stopped. 

“John,” Harold started. 

John looked up at him with his head cocked to one side and an arched brow. “Yes, Harold?”

The music started again downstairs with a slow steady beat to mark the last song before dinner just as Harold started to look as though he was loosing his nerve. 

“Would you care to dance?” Finch said, one hand extended in invitation.

John’s brain came to a screeching halt at the question, no longer capable of conscious thought. His deeply ingrained social conditioning came over him and he took Finch’s extended hand. The office didn’t have much for a makeshift dance floor but it was more than enough room for John and Finch to find the slow rhythm together and start their movement across the floor. 

He stared right into Finch’s eyes, holding the gaze and before he knew it he was sure that he couldn’t have stopped staring for all the world. The shear magnetism that Harold had always held over John seemed to multiply when he started through the crystal clear glasses into blue eyes. 

“You don’t need those glasses, do you?” John asked. They twisted around to the music, maybe not as wide of arches as their companions downstairs might have been making, but right on beat even if the music was starting to fade from John’s consciousness. It wasn’t the most graceful dance John had ever been apart of but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. He also knew that his frustration with Finch had all but faded away and would probably only return when Finch showed his habits again. 

“No,” Harold answered easily. 

“Why?” 

“People have expectations of men in glasses. Its easy to fill that role for them.” 

“You don’t fit any expectations, Harold,” John said. 

“I could say the same to you.” 

John smiled. Harold had a point. “It’s a better look on you.” 

Harold smiled at him. “I sincerely doubt that.”

The air became thick and something started to squirm in John’s stomach. For one insane and fleeting moment John was sure he was about to lean down and kiss Harold. There wasn’t room for propriety in their relationship anyway, what would one more line crossed against all the others?

He saw the same thoughts cross Harold’s face but before John could make a complete fool of himself Harold spoke. “Did I say something to offend you?” 

The squirming in John’s stomach stopped and his good mood was doused in a bucket of cold water. “What are you talking about?” he asked. Without much thought he decided that he needed to pretend that he had ever been anything but frustrated with their game of cat and mouse. Forgetting about slights wasn’t something he was an expert at but he had enough practice pretending to forget that he knew he could pull it off. 

“You never answered my letters and stopped accepting the invitations for tea and dinner, was I supposed to think something other than you were upset about something?” 

“Maybe I was busy.”

Finch stopped their movement even as the music continued on. One brow arched high but he didn’t say anything more, his disappointment in the answer clear enough without spoken words. 

John took at step back. If Harold wanted to start a silent standoff then John was more than ready to take up the gauntlet. Time stretched out in front of them just easily as it had when they were dancing. The air was just as thick but more suffocating than it had been before and the tension more stressing than pleasurable.

“If you don’t want to tell me that’s fine,” Harold said in a tone that made it very clear just how not fine it was. “But I can’t fix things that I don’t know are broken.”

John laughed because there was nothing else he could do. “You’re pretty good at proving points even when you’re not trying.”

Harold looked lost for half a second. “I’ve just proven you’re point?”

“Harold, I didn’t answer you because you were wrong and it’s not my job to correct you,” John said, doing his best to keep his tone light but unamused.

“Was I wrong that Will speaks out of turn sometimes? Are you more familiar with him than me?” Harold asked, his voice shaking just a little like he was holding something back. 

“I don’t know Will at all. You’re wrong that everyone has their secrets. You have secrets, Ingram has secrets, Root is just one big secret, but the rest of us had our secrets dug out of our neighbors for you files.” John motioned to the desk standing not ten feet away. “You’re a hypocrite, Harold. And for a genius you’re pretty thick.” 

As John talked he could watch a million different emotions flash across Harold’s face, each more hurt than the last until they all dropped off into a mask of cold indifference. John might have seen the mask but he still couldn’t see past it and that was the last irritation he could stand from Harold that night. 

He moved around the edge of the room to the door and left back to the party downstairs. He didn’t look back to see if Harold was watching him, he knew in his gut that he wasn’t. He found Shaw and told her he was leaving early and that he would see her at home, and Root who was standing next to her, offered him the use of one of their horses that John gladly accepted.

* * *

Two days later Carter and Fusco came to the house still in the middle of their conversation. “They probably just got bored of us,” Fusco said. “People like that live to be in the city.”

“I suppose,” Carter said as she situated her dress and sat down at her usual desk. 

“What’re you two going on about?” John asked. 

“Didn’t you hear? Our golden trio’s gone,” Carter said. 

John didn’t look at the letter that was sitting under a paperweight of a dog but it was a close thing, He had heard that they were leaving but he had assumed that Harold had meant to leave once the roads were a little more clear and traveling back to London would be easy. 

“I’m surprised that you didn’t get an engraved notification given how close you and glasses have been.” Fusco plopped down in his own chair.

The letter hadn’t been engraved. The ink had shown signs of shaking distress but John had known people with chronic pain before and it was most likely that that had made Harold’s hand tremble just a little, not the stress of leaving. 

“Yeah, what about Shaw? Did Root tell her?” Carter asked, looking around for the sister in question. 

“I don’t track my sister’s mail,” John said. 

Shaw had received a letter and she’d been eerily quiet ever since. John expected that there was a bit of blame put on him in that letter, but she hadn’t tried to kill him yet so he wasn’t about to ask. The blame could be passed around to a few people if John were to believe what Finch had written to him and Shaw had never had a problem multitasking. 

“You don’t notice when a messenger comes to your home?” Carter asked, not bothering to hide her disbelief.

“Shaw’s very popular, Carter,” John said. He had always hated it when she decided to tug at a loose thread in his story. She always found the answer she wanted in the end. 

“She’s popular with exactly one person,” Fusco chimed in.

John watched carefully for Fusco’s reaction to his own statement, just to check if he understood the implications of what he’d said. Fusco looked back at unimpressed with the sharp stare then eventually shifted in his seat. “No one in this room cares what kind of people you and your sister are into.” He sounded like he genuinely couldn’t have cared less about what John got up to. 

“That doesn’t mean we want you in jail either,” Carter said, forever the voice of reason. “You both know they’re finding more people all the time.

“There’s nothing to be arrested for,” John said. “They’re gone and they have nothing to do with any of us.” 

“All I’m saying is be happy but don’t be stupid,” Carter said. With one more blank look from John they started to dig into their files. 

They worked for hours until Carter and Fusco called it a day and each of them had their own stacks of inquiry letters to put in the mail. For a while after John didn’t leave his office. He took dinner there in the quiet of the room, stoking the fire himself so he wasn’t disturbed. 

He read Finch’s letter over and over again stuck on one sentence every time until he was on the verge of throwing all the paper into the fire. 

_Dearest John,_

_I’m writing because I don’t want you finding out the news third hand as I consider you one of my closest acquaintances to date. Nathan, Will, Root, and I are leaving. I regret our abrupt departure but we all agree that it is necessary, though Root still has her own reservations about it._

_You see, John, we have found ourselves in some trouble, or more accurately I have found myself in some trouble. The trouble is that being around you makes me desire things I can never, and should never have. You must understand that being near you makes me want to tell you things that you could never forgive nor should you be asked to. I must leave, John, for both our sakes._

_Yours,_

_Harold Finch_

It was nearing two in the morning when the door opened again and Shaw came in dressed in her riding clothes despite the late hour. 

“I’m going to London,” she said and then almost left immediately after the words were out of her mouth. 

“Shaw,” John called after her to slow down her departure. She came back into the room and shut the office door behind her. “What good will it do?” She sat down across from him in one of the armchairs next to the fire.

“It’s a long ride. I’ll figure it out,” she said her face blank and empty with a little bit of effort on her part. 

“There’s real danger here,” John said.

“Maybe,” she said. “But I don’t care. I’m bored here.”

“Then get a hobby.” 

“I had a _hobby_ but Ingram didn’t like my hobby because he’s a coward and he convinced your hobby to run back to London,” Shaw stood up from the chair and started towards the door. 

“At least wait until morning. We can leave then,” John said. 

“We? Who says you’re invited?”

“I think we have enough indecency rumors about this house going around without adding _woman traveling alone_ to the list.” John stood from his own chair and stretched. 

“Of course not, we’re a model of civilized society.” Shaw then left the room and he listened to her steps go back to her room instead of out the door. He extinguished what was left of the fire in the hearth, wrote a note to the staff asking them to prepare the carriage for a trip to London and went to bed. 

They’d be leaving early if Shaw remembered to wake up.

* * *

By the time the sun rose and John woke up the carriage was already set and a few meals had been packed for the trip. John knew he had a few sets of clothes at the London house but he still grabbed a few sets and had them packed away for him as he ate breakfast. Shaw was already awake and had eaten but managed to only make two snide remarks about how slow he was. 

John for his part though was determined not to rush, his brain was anyway, a part of him was already in London tracking Harold down and demanding real answers. The carriage ride was slow and long as it was every time John tried to get out of the country and into the city for a little bit of real peace. They had to stop mid-day to rest the horses so by the time they were nearing London it was almost midnight. 

They went directly to the London house that was nestled in the middle of Harley Street. The house was by no means the largest or nicest of the homes that in the neighborhood but the manager of the home, one of their cousins, Sandra Nicholson, kept the property in good shape and kept the rooms full more often than not. Luckily she hadn’t been able to fill the two tops rooms for the full Season and John and Shaw went to their individual rooms. 

The next morning John went to find Shaw but she wasn’t in her room or at the breakfast table. “Do you know where my sister ran off to?” John asked the cook who was kneading bread in the kitchen. 

She looked up at him and shook her head. “I boiled an egg for her around dawn but I haven’t seen her since. I can call around to the rest of the staff to find her.” 

“That’s fine,” John said. “Do you happen to know where the Ingrams are staying while they’re in town? There’ll be four of them plus their own staff and they would have arrived just a few days ago.”

She tossed her hair back out of her face and continued to kneed as she thought. “There is a new family that just moved onto Grosvenor Street, they have the whole house to themselves. I don’t know if they’re the Ingrams.” 

“What number?”

“Seventeen,” she said. 

John thanked her and left the room. If Shaw wasn’t in the house she was probably already gone looking for Root and knowing Root she probably already had the address. He grabbed a black wool overcoat that hung to his knees and pulled it on over his jacket and pants, almost meeting his tall boots where they went up his legs. 

Outside the wind was biting cold and he turned his collar up against the wind as he made his way through the streets on his way to Grosvenor as best he could remember. He didn’t tend to stay in the city often. The Season didn’t interest him terribly since he wasn’t involved in politics and being around too many people annoyed him, but his parents had loved the city and he still remembered a bit of the layout of the city from his early years. 

It was as dirty as he remembered, left over snow piled brown on against the sidewalks and at the entry of alleyways. The sound of people shouting came from everywhere around him with the sound of hoofs against cobblestones and wheels just barely drowning them out. Even in this area of town that was filed with the rich and the peerage John found the sound cloying. The air, too, seemed dirty and thick with smog that John’s unaccustomed lungs wanted to cough out. 

Still he kept his head held just the right amount of down that no one would bother him as he made his way to number seventeen Grosvenor street. The building was white with a black door and a large brass knocker that John didn’t go anywhere near. Instead, he stationed himself across the street at the entrance to an ally and watched. 

In the front window Finch was sitting in the sunlight writing something, extreme focus deepening the lines of his face as he worked on some problem. If he looked up and across the street he might spot John since the shadows were only so deep in the late morning light but he never did look up. Not until Root came sweeping into the room with Ingram following after her, looking angry even from where John stood. 

As quickly as he could without rising interest John made his way across the street and to the ally that number 17 was up against. Luckily there was a window facing that ally with the curtains drawn to block out the view of the side of white brick of their neighbors. 

“I don’t see what you’re so angry about,” he heard Nathan say. 

“I’m not angry, Nathaniel,” Root said and John could almost see the disappointed and sarcastic expression on her face. “I’m just disappointed.”

“I didn’t do anything disappointing,” Ingram argued. “Tell her.” John imagined that Ingram was probably dragging Harold into the argument that may have been going on for hours. 

“What _did_ you do?” Harold asked, sounding weary. 

“Nothing.”

“Nathan,” Harold shot at him, warning him. 

“I wrote a letter asking Miss Morgan asking when she would be coming to London,” Nathan explained and even John could tell he was holding something back. Fortunately Root didn’t seem interested in waiting for Harold to pull the whole truth out of Nathan slowly.

“We’ve talked about your habit of lying Nathaniel, we don’t like it.” 

There was a second of silence that John strained to hear against the glass, hoping that no one would glance down to see him. 

“You wrote to Zoe asking her to come to London to be with you. You’re planning to propose when she gets here,” Root continued. 

Ingram sounded defensive when he spoke next. “What’s the problem with that?”

“You dragged us away from the country because you didn’t approve of our company and now you’re brining your favorite part of the company here?” Harold asked, patient as a parent with an unruly child. 

“My company won’t get us arrested or disgraced,” Ingram shot back with open vitriol. 

“You’re letting your fear control you and now its affecting Harold and I too and that’s simply unacceptable,” Root said, her voice was sharp in a way that sounded like a threat to John.

“Root.” There was a scraping sound of a chair against the ground and Harold’s voice was sharp. “We all agreed to leave.” 

“Yes, Harry, we all agreed to make a sacrifice, I’m just pointing out that our friend here couldn’t leave Zoe alone for two months until she came back to London just like we all knew she would," Root said. 

"The point was not sacrifice, the point was safety," Finch argued. 

"I felt perfectly safe there and so did you, Mr. Midnight Dance In the Study," Root argued.

"Mister what?" Ingram asked. 

"Nothing," Harold said. "We all know that whether Nathan sends that letter or not Miss Morgan will follow, she's from London anyway. Our problem and our solution remains the same, however." 

John moved away from the window, deciding that he was done listening to the whole mess of a conversation. It sounded a whole lot like Shaw still had a chance and that she hadn’t been there yet, otherwise Root would have mentioned it, John was sure. Harold though didn’t seem overly interested in ever seeing any of them again. 

He walked around the corner and passed in front of the window again like he hadn’t just slipped out of an ally. He didn’t see Harold stare at him as he walked by.

* * *

Night came and the city became just a little more quiet before it burst back to loud life as the rich began their nightly socialization rituals. People shouted and laughed outside his window and there was a near constant sound of carriage wheels on the cobblestones of the streets with their accompanying horseshoes clicking on the stones. The people boarding in the lower rooms of the house were chatting away happily as John sat at his desk just waiting for a lull in the noise or for his exhaustion to become so overpowering that he could sleep through it all. Instead as he sat with his shirt half unbuttoned and his jacket hung up at his desk there was a knock at the door. “Mr. Reese?”

“Come in,” he said and turned in his chair to watch the door open and one of the staff walk in. 

“A Mr. Finch is here to see you.”

John’s heart jumped into his throat and suddenly he was struggling to think let alone speak. “I see, are any of the drawing rooms empty of guests?”

“No, sir.” She looked a little apologetic and John wanted to tell her it wasn’t her fault that he had dropped into a boarding house unexpectedly but instead just told her to bring Mr. Finch up to his room. She nodded and left.

As soon as she was out of sight John jumped up out of his chair and straightened his room just a little more, closing the wardrobe and tucking in the sheets. He was straightening the papers on his desk when Harold walked in. 

“Hello, Mr. Reese,” he said. If it had been anyone else John might have thought he heard the shake of his voice was as it was Harold he just brushed it off. Harold wasn’t nervous to be seeing John.

“We’ve been over this, Harold. Call me John.” He spun the desk chair around and offered it to Harold who sat as John sat on the bed across from him. 

“Of course.” Harold was silent for a while, looking around the room and then finally at John. “I saw you this morning outside of our house, I take it that wasn’t a coincidence.”

For a long moment John considered lying, he had never been above it before and wasn’t about to start being above it any time soon but he also knew that it would only prolong the inevitable. “No.” 

Harold sighed. “I didn’t ask you to come.”

“Didn’t have to. Shaw’s here too, somewhere,” John said, hopefully deflecting the conversation. 

“I’m sure Root has found her wherever she is.”

John had no doubt. 

“You both need to leave.”

“Why?”

“John, I left because I had to.”

“No, you didn’t.” 

“You don’t understand.”

“I understand just fine. You’re afraid of the consequences if someone were to find out about my feelings,” John said. 

“John,” Harold said, his voice just a little worn thin. “Your friendship is not the problem. You’re a landowner. If anything your friendship adds legitimacy to Nathan and I’s whole enterprise.”

“That’s not the kind of feelings I’m talking about here and you know it,” John said just a tad sharper then he had been intending. 

Harold looked a little startled but quickly regained control. John looked around him and stood and with one quick jerk pulled the curtain shut to lock them fully into privacy if they could keep their voices down. 

“You didn’t want me there anymore either, if our last conversation was anything to go by,” Harold said. 

John stepped close to Harold who stood up to face him, close enough that their chests almost touched. “I wanted you to tell me the truth, not run away.”

“There is no shortage of people in this world who would stop at nothing to see that Nathan and I go away, they would not hesitate to take you down with us,” Harold said. “Being tied to us is a risk. Most likely to your life given my…feelings.”

John scoffed. “We’re already tied to each other. When Carter and Fusco found out they immediately thought that I should have known more about why you left. And if you didn’t notice my feelings are just as much a threat.”

“You can’t love someone who’s sins you don’t know.”

“Well I already love someone who keeps my family’s secrets at the ready for blackmail and manipulation so why not?”

“I would never do that to you or Shaw. That’s not why we…” For once Finch looked genuinely shocked and insulted so John took advantage and kept pressing. 

“The flow of information isn’t exactly even, Finch. The love part of this isn’t negotiable for me. There’s no point to hiding. Unless you’re secretly Napoleon you’re stuck with me.”

For a long moment John thought Harold would walk out but instead he took a deep breath and started to talk. “Luckily for me I’m not Napoleon. My mother was a governess and my father was the Steward for the Duke of York and Albany,” Harold started, not looking at John but instead the hollow of his throat with a deep intensity, like trying to recall his own past was difficult. “They educated me along with the Duke’s children. When I showed a promise with maths I was sent to the Netherlands to study. I promised to marry a girl named Grace who lived in town when I got back. I loved her more than I had loved anything and I still do, but there was a storm on the way there. We crashed and even though I made it and was able to start my studies somehow word got back to England that I was dead. I started to pass myself off as someone who came from more money than I actually did, wearing the hand-me-downs from the Duke’s children that had survived the crash with me. Took a new name and then when I went to Cambridge I took another after meeting Nathan and developing the first of our textile machines. The rest, you know.”

John was quiet for a long time, he had been searching for so long and had played so many mind games with Harold that he almost couldn’t believe it. “What about Grace?” 

“I never went back. She’s already mourned for me and I’m not the man she loved before. I don’t think I could ever go back. There was a mix up at the registrar’s though and we were put down as already married. She’s receiving a substantial payout for my death.” Finch was quiet for a long time. “Do you see now why you shouldn’t love me?”

“Because you faked your death on accident. I think I’ve got you beat in the sins department, Harold.” Finch almost smiled, but John laughed at his own joke. 

“I’m not like the people who get away with torrid affairs. I have no long family line that can ask for a pardon or a look in the other direction while we run off to another country. You won’t be safe and I won’t let you die so that you can lay in bed with some old man.”

Despite himself John felt a smile growing across his cheeks. “I think I get to decide what I’m willing to die for.” 

“I won’t let that be me,” Harold whispered. 

“Then learn how to be subtle,” John said before leaning in slow enough that Harold had away out to press their lips together. Harold didn’t react at first but when John started to back out of the closed mouth chaste kiss Harold chased after him and pressed up against him. 

John wrapped one arm around Harold’s waist and put his other hand in Harold’s hair, running across the bristles the way he had wanted to for months. Their mouths moved against each other just off beat for a while until Harold put his own fingers through John’s hair and took control. They kissed for so long John felt himself start to sway with how weak his knees suddenly were under him. 

They broke away from each other each having to take a bit of breath before Harold could even speak. John wondered graphically what it would take to get Harold to shut up for more than a few seconds. 

“This is a very bad idea,” he said though he only briefly took his eyes away from lips as he spoke. 

“I’ve had much worse ideas and they’re working out?”

“And what was that?” Harold asked with just a hint of a laugh.

“Falling in love with you,” John said and Harold gave up a surprised laugh. 

Harold was quiet and still for a long time with a smile on his face as he gazed up at John. John was on the verge of asking if Harold was okay when he spoke. “I love you too.”

John wanted to lean down and kiss Harold again but his smile wouldn’t stop and he didn’t fancy just clanking his teeth against Harold’s mouth. Instead he rested his forehead on Harold’s and stared at him. He started to trail kisses down the side of Harold’s face until he got back to his mouth and they could go back to kissing each other. 

Slowly John turned them around and started back Harold up until he was able to put them flat on the bed and continue kissing. 

“I love you,” John said again as he started to kiss down Harold’s neck and was gathering pillows for Harold to adjust his position. 

“I love you too, now stop talking.”

* * *

Two months later John and Shaw were still living in London and were planning their return back to the country with Finch and Root. They had both just sent out announcements of their engagements to appease Nathan who had done nothing but fret ever since Harold hadn’t returned home the night he had left to see John. 

John was set to marry Root in a few weeks and Shaw was set to marry Harold the following day and then would be off to off to the country where Shaw and Root would be taking up residence in Netherfield that Harold had bought for his new bride and John and Harold would live in the Reese house as neighbors unless anyone asked. If anyone asked Root quite loved living in John’s home and Finch loved the library of Netherfield. 

Nathan was the only one outside of the small group who knew the whole scope of the arrangement but the younger Ingram still shot the four of them suspicious looks when they had announced their respective engagements. Still, John suspected that the kid had more than enough love for his godfather and not enough care to do anything about his suspicions. He might have actually been happy for them. 

For once, John thought as he sat next to the love of his life and across from his soon to be wife on a couch, things might just work out in his favor.

**Author's Note:**

> Well, it's done now. Go check out the [art](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16723140) that goes with it from the lovely [Dien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dien/pseuds/Dien) and leave all the love because it's amazing. 
> 
> Huge shout out to [killclaudio](https://killclaudia.tumblr.com) for being awesome.


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